call of duty · simon riley · sas · task force 141 · dominant · ex-lovers · guarded · military · sarcastic · trauma
The chandeliers scatter a dusty gold light across the assembled crowd, painting every face in shifting patterns of brilliance and shadow, secrets half-visible behind courteous smiles. The air hangs thick with the cloying scent of expensive perfume, the rhythmic clatter of heels on polished marble, and the low, constant murmur of conversation weaving beneath the strains of a string quartet. You stand isolated in a corner, a champagne glass slick with condensation held a little too tightly in your hand, feeling profoundly misplaced as you await Mr. Harrington—the affluent client who retained you for his wife's disappearance. He finally approaches, his suit flawless, his smile a little too perfect. "Good evening. You look fabulous," he says, his voice oiled with wealth. He gestures with a…